Kings of the Wild Frontier - Part One
by wordbyrd
Summary: "Now, Fräulein, if you please – perhaps I might converse with you about this predicament that you find yourself in?" This is an imagined back-story for the fantastic and complex character Dr. King Schultz.


**Kings of the Wild Frontier – Part One**

The woman wiped an errant trickle of blood off of her forehead with the back of her shaking hand. It wasn't as if it was the first time someone had hit her. Still, it wasn't any more pleasant that it had ever been. She was sitting awkwardly in the half-broken chair from her room now, and standing over her messy halo of red hair was an odd, bearded, _graying_ gentleman. She did not look directly at him. She did not think about the shiny six-shooter at her waist. Even if there was a way to quickly grab it without him knowing, she'd never get to it in time.

It would not be a hard task for him to end her – that was evident.

"Now, Fräulein, if you please –" he gave a slight flourish with his hand before sitting down at the end of her saggy little cot. Carefully – almost gently – his lips turned upwards into a slight smile.

Damned devil, she thought, of course she was in no position to run now. The young woman took a deep breath, & finally looked up at the man for the first time.

"Perhaps I might converse with you about this predicament that you find yourself in?"

He had kind eyes. They were brown, sparkled with interest, and rested above a thin-bridged nose. The rest of his face was all mustache, beard, and jaw-line. His smile widened slightly when he realized she was weighing her options. As if she was in any position to do so. The man withdrew a handkerchief from the inner pocket of his suit coat which she took gladly. The young woman held it to her head, and the gentleman continued to regard her patiently.

"Well Doctor," she said carefully. "I see that I don't have much of a choice."

There was never much that separated her from security and calamity – that was something Bess had learned. Something else she knew was that the line from security to calamity was not a straight one. It wove, wound, looped and swirled in unexpected ways until there were patterns that resembled a flawed knit square of yarn sitting where your life used to be. The line and the life it shaped was a complicated business. Yet, the space that separated safety and despair was shorter than most people could imagine.

She had been secure…in an upscale Boston home one moment, wrapped in kit gloves and fine petticoats with hair washed, curled, parted down the middle and smelling of rose water. Then there was the body of her dead husband, and his blood all over her fine soft shoes. There was the burning of that fortress house in the quiet neighborhood, and there was the flight by train to the first out-of-the-way town she could get to with the money she'd managed to hide away. The tyrant was dead. For a moment, that had been enough.

When Bess Norcross arrived in Camden, South Carolina in the spring of 1853 the town wasn't much to look at. It was bathed in mud that never dried out, and the humidity in the air stuck to Bess' skin like the mute terror that had permeated her limbs on the long train ride.

Upon her arrival, she'd simply sat at the train station for hours – shocked and tear stained. She was sure that passerby folks thought her drunk or touched. The young woman finally came back to herself – realized that when a man like her husband died…when his house went up in ashes for no good reason, and a woman like her went missing, people were bound to give chase. Finally, mercifully - she'd been able to make her feet move towards the first boarding house she could find, and then she'd met Nattie.

"Listen, little sister –" the woman had said after showing Bess to a room. "I know what a person in trouble looks like, and _you_…well, you look like you outrunning the damned devil hisself!"

Lovely Nettie, with big dark eyes and strong arms. She and her partner Sarah had run the boarding house for as long as anyone in the downtown district could remember.

"It was jus' luck that Sarah and I met up," she'd told Bess. "Sarah lost her Thomas years ago, and I needed…a place." At this point in the story, Nettie smiled to herself as she looked down at her hands all shy-like.

"We been together ever since, she and I."

It wasn't till she'd been there a few weeks that Bess realized how close the two women were. Strangely enough, she did not feel scandalized. The words of Father Clarke who'd preached hellfire and damnation from the pulpit of her childhood church did not drown out the fact that she too had 'a place' now.

The rest just didn't matter.

The saloon down the street kept Bess awake some nights, and even though she was afraid of it – afraid of the loud music, the clientele, the gun shots that sometimes rang out over the night air – there was a curious feeling in her gut that liked to bubble up when she looked at the place. Nattie and Sarah – who did their best to keep a low profile anyway – advised Bess to keep away from anything or anyone attached to The Bone Orchard.

A man everyone simply called 'Midas' owned the morbidly named establishment, and half the other businesses in Camden. More than once Bess had heard her friends refer to the fat mustachioed geezer as "an evil old cuss" and it was obvious that Midas had made a play for Sarah's Room & Board several times in the past. None of these details meant much to the timid young woman who made herself more and more at home with Sarah and Nattie every day.

Her two new housemates simply marveled at Bess, who was a pale ghost with a smudge of crimson perpetually crowning her head. Indeed, it was the girl's hair that was loud and not the girl herself. Below the hairline, it was as if Bess wanted to shrink into the floorboards and escape from some unspeakable thing that was never far from her mind.

Thankfully, there was no end to the ways that that her two new livin'-in-sin guardian angels kept her busy. There was cooking, cleaning, sweeping, and scrubbing from early in the morning till late at night – and this was just fine with Bess. Dropping off after a day of honest work was preferable to the restless days that she had tried to fill in her other life. Now there was the rapidity of busy hours, and it was only in the early morning when she was ever bothered by what had happened back in Boston. Back in the long-ago world she'd rather not think of.

The night terrors had happened often when she'd first come to Camden – she'd wake soaked through with sweat and tears. Sometimes her eyes would spring open and instantly train on a hurricane lamp Nattie was holding over the bed while Sarah tried to sooth Bess' screams. Thankfully, through all the hullabaloo, the two women had never asked their desperate new housemate what had brought her from the far, glittering palaces of the upper northeast to their corner of the world. Sarah and Nattie weren't stupid, and Bess figured they must be able to tell she came from blue Yankee blood. It was in her speech, and her stilted manners. She knew that it was only fair to come clean to the women who were responsible for her livelihood. It was only right to be as honest with them as they had been with her. However, this coming clean – it did not happen until she could speak the story without sobbing. When she'd practiced the words and made up her mind – that was when Bess finally sat down one afternoon with her friends over glasses of sweet tea, and told them everything.

Through the clasping of hands, and hushed voices, all three women decided not to speak of such things again unless it was necessary. All three knew enough of the world to keep it secret.

Despite everything she had endured – the loss of her husband, the harsh realities of a woman trying to make it with her lover alone in the world, and dealing with the likes of Midas – Sarah Stoddard was a faithful God-fearing woman. Bible-thumping, no. It was not in her to judge lest she and Nattie were to be judged. It was not in her to be ungenerous or unkind. It had seemed only natural for Sarah and Nattie to take in the strange, sad woman who she believed providence had led to their doorstep. They made a curious but handsome trio, and in some odd sense, it felt to Sarah that she finally had a complete family under her roof despite the comings and goings of the various customers who frequented her business.

Sarah, though in her late forties, still struck most people as beautiful. She had angular, sharp features that would have been frightening if it weren't for her wide blue eyes, and long auburn hair which silver streaks shot all through it. Nattie was seemingly her very opposite – all dark hair, ageless features, and round-faced goodness. Of course, Nattie had not been property of the Stoddard estate for years – not since Thomas had died. Now she stayed of her own accord to help with the boarding house, and to "keep things running like clockwork" as her love put it. It used to chill her – the thought of what the people of their town would do if they were ever found out, but societal norms worked in their favor, and as far as she knew, everyone just assumed that the relationship between the two women was nothing more than conventionally domestic – professional.

"We've started running a boardinghouse for wayward ladies, it seems –" she told Nattie one night after what must have been the thousand screaming fit that Bess had thrown.

"I don't know what kind of trouble that girl is in, but it's something bad – I'm certain of it now."

It didn't surprise either woman in the least when, weeks later, they finally learned that Bess had killed her husband. Her influential rich husband whose family name appeared in society rags that managed to make their way even out as far as Camden and into the back country beyond. It didn't come as a surprise either that Midas showed up on the steps of their boarding house full of threats, piss, and vinegar.

Sarah was a God-fearing woman. She had faith, and she believed that things usually worked out. The flourishing business she owned and the existence of Nattie in her life were proof of that. However, Sarah also knew that going to look for the devil was foolish- evil in the world was never all that far from your own front door. What Sarah didn't realize was that she and Nattie's dear little Bess was pure demon bait.

"People talk, Miss Sarah – and they've had plenty to say about you lately."

It was late afternoon, and the thick, swollen tower of a business man stood prominently on the wrap-around porch of Sarah's Room & Board, his brown silk hat jauntily set to one side. There was a glint in his eye that the woman didn't like one little bit. Then again, there was little about the fellow that Sarah didn't find troublesome.

"Is that so, Midas? Well, you'd best come in and tell me all about it, then."

"Aw, thank you ma'am – but you see, I don't like to compromise my position in this town by associating myself with those who have…a questionable moral compass."

Sarah only let her eyes go glassy for a moment before responding.

"I wonder at your impertinence, sir?" she managed to growl.

"What in providence's name do you think you're playing at?"

"Only that we've had an interesting character ride into town today, and he's got quite a story to tell."

"And what does any of that have to do with me?" Sarah tightened her grip around the broom she was holding, even though she desperately wanted to be perceived as independently steady.

"A fancy-pants foreigner by the name of 'Doctor King Schultz' wandered into the saloon this afternoon. He's a bounty hunter…well, that and a part-time dentist. Says he'll have a look at one of my more troublesome molars before he leaves town."

At this, the corpulent business man stuck a fat finger into the back of his mouth, and absentmindedly wiggled something there while Sarah looked on wholly unamused.

"At any rate, this fellow has been looking for a woman from up north with a price to the tune of one-thousand dollars on her head. Now, that's a fair amount of money as far as bounties go – but it's because – and this is the part that positively chills the blood – it's because this woman, Elizabeth Norcross, set fire to her house with her husband inside."

The man inched closer to the doorframe Sarah stood in. She instinctively straightened her back, watching her shadow lengthen itself. Carefully she set her lips in a thin line as Midas peered into her face, nose to nose.

"I must admit, Miss Sarah – we've all been wondering about your girl."

Sarah cocked one eyebrow, and shamelessly tried for diversion.

"What about Nattie? Y'all have known her for years. I don't know what you'd want with her."

"Don't play coy with me, madam – the newest addition to your household. You have any idea where she come from?"

Gathering herself, Sarah gave a smile.  
"Well, o'corse, Midas! That's my sister's daughter Annabelle come up from Savannah for a spell. I wouldn't just let anyone stay here, you know that!"

There was silence while Midas considered this, squinting his eyes. Suddenly, his chubby arm shot out and grabbed Sarah's wrist.

"_That_ is a load of horseshit, Miss Sarah."

"How dare you!" Sarah growled, trying to pull away from Midas' grip. The commotion brought Nattie from the back of the house to the front room.

"Sarah! What's the matter?"

"You know, the folks in this town – they talk more than a little bit about the two of you, too." Midas' voice had lowered to something tonally primal that sounded hollow and mean.

"I wouldn't want them getting any more ideas about what happens in this house, Sarah. I wouldn't want you and your slave woman getting hurt. No, I think it's best if you send 'Annabelle' down to the saloon after a spell to answer a few questions."

"The hell we will -" Nattie yelled.

"Shut your girl up, Sarah –" Midas countered, "-or I'll shut her mouth for you!"

With that, Midas released the shaken older woman, thrusting her back into the house with a shove.

"You've got an hour before I send a posse in. That's a damn courtesy considering the danger that you've put my town in, harboring an arsonist….and a probable murderess to boot."

With that, Midas turned, and sauntered off towards The Bone Yard, a satisfied gait added to his considerable waddle.

Nattie rushed to Sarah, taking her wrist in both hands and letting out a cry at the bruise that was starting to form there.

"Good God, baby – what are we going to do?"

Bess emerged from around the corner. She'd managed to conceal herself during the confrontation. It had taken everything to keep quiet – to not run out the back of the boarding house. Of course, it would be just like Midas to have men watching the place. What used to be a safe space was quickly closing in – not just on her, but on her two angels who had been so kind.  
Whatever happened, Nattie and Sarah shouldn't suffer. Not because of her.

"It's obvious," Bess responded quietly in her crisp, lilting speech. "I made this mess for you two. I'm going to have to clean it up, aren't I?"

She'd been able to take some money with her. Bess had managed to pry a few bills from the wall safe in her husband's study, and had hid it for weeks before the night that Leland Norcross had died – she'd done that right, at least. While working at the boarding house, she'd gotten a place to sleep and food for free. That had been lucky, too.  
Bess had at least seventy dollars after the train ticket, and that might at least get her out of Camden although getting out undetected was going to be the real trick. She knew that no one could blame Nattie or Sarah if the strange young woman who claimed to be her Sarah's niece turned out to be a thieving imposter. But after that? After she was past the town limits? Where could she go?

"No matter now," she thought to herself. "I'll just have to find somewhere. I can't stay here."

It all happened so quickly that recalling it later would make Bess' head spin – Sarah had run to her bedroom to procure some of her dead husband's clothing from an old trunk. Nattie had run to get shears from the sewing basket. In less than an instant, Bess' dress was gone – replaced with old oversized breeches and suspenders. A beaver-skin coat hung off of her, and she felt enveloped in the ensemble. It felt like wearing someone else's life.

Her eyes were cast downward forlornly as she surveyed the space around her feet. Bright poppy-red strands of hair lay cast aside like weeds. It was all hers –or had been, until Nattie had started cutting.

"It'll grow back, little sister." Nattie managed through her grit teeth and fear. "Right now, we've got to get you out of here, and you can't get away from this house lookin' womanly as you do. They know something is amiss,"

"Thanks to that damned dentist, or whoever he is!" Sarah added gruffly, hanging a journeyman's pack from Bess' arm.

"Now you listen to me," Nattie huffed. "You're gonna take our horse Jake and ride like hell down the country road just past the corner up hear. You'll ride for about ten miles until you get to Westville,"

"That'll take hours," Bess breathed. "I'll never make it before dark."

"Don't stop unless you want 'em catching you, Bess! We'll stall Midas and his people as long as we can, but you've got to find a place to hunker down for a few days. You get yourself to the boarding house in Westville – we'll find you there later. You got money?"

"Yes, Nattie-" she chocked back a scared sob just in time for the other woman to catch her eyes.

"There's no time to cry right now. You've got to _go_!"

And on the back of old Jake the sorrel horse, Bess' suspender-wearing, boot donning form rode as quickly as it could out of Camden. She held to the horse and the journey pack resting across her body, and tried to not think about being scared. She tried not to think of the shining Colt sitting cold and heavy next to the skin of her waistline. She imagined herself completely invisible, and calm – like the breeze on a summer night. The only thing to give her away were the tiny short strands of poppy red hair jutting in curious ways from out beneath the brim of Thomas Stoddard's old hat.

Nattie watched through the front porch window as the men walked out of The Bone Yard all in a haphazard pack. She watched Midas and his compatriots, and she watched who she presumed to be Dr. Schultz take his horse and dentist's cart, complete with a gold-crowned tooth sitting on a spring atop the contraption to the livery stable. It wasn't until the group started towards the boarding house that she got really nervous. She called for Sarah, who had just finished packing away Bess' dress and sweeping up the strands of hair from the middle of the parlor where they'd prepared the girl's disguise. No sooner had the two women composed themselves than Midas burst through the front door all in a huff.

"Really, Midas!" Sarah huffed. "There's no need to act so untoward."

The businessman straightened his waist jacket by tugging both sides out towards the front, and he cast a sideways glance back towards the curious man in a well-tailored grey suit and matching bowler.

"This here is the Widow Stoddard, Dr. Schultz. She's been harboring the criminal, alright!"

"Ah - please Mr. Midas, "

The doctor's face frowned slightly. "We are in the company of ladies. Even under the circumstances, there is no need to be so…brusque."

Nattie wrinkled her nose slightly, and cast a sideways glance at Sarah who cocked her eyebrow. The man was clearly not native born – in fact, his speech and mannerisms immediately set him apart from the rest of the tiny mob. His voice was crisp and lilted slightly. The sound itself was a sharp contrast to Midas' slovenly growl.

The doctor moved haltingly forward, removing his hat before tilting his head slightly towards Sarah.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Stoddard. You…are the owner of this _fine_ establishment?"

"I am," Sarah replied softly. "But I haven't been harboring any _criminals_. None we knew about, anyhow."

"Well, it don't matter now." Midas growled again. "Give the murderess to us, or we'll be locking you both up."

"Well, Midas- you might just have to do that. You see, the girl I thought was my niece has robbed us and left."

There was a stunned silence as the woman's words sunk in.

"How? When?" the doctor inquired crisply.

"I believe-" Sarah looked into Nattie's face as if searching for an answer. "I believe that she left sometime earlier today. There is money gone from the lockbox I keep in the back room. She also stole my best muslin cap. Always a fan of fancy dress, that one."

"Absolutely vain," Nattie added quietly, for emphasis.

"You know, I bet she used my money to buy another train ticket!" Sarah placed her hands on her hips and angrily shook her head. "She arrived by train, and I'm guessing that's how she left, too."

"Why on earth," Midas huffed "-do you think we are going to believe that _load_ of horseshit?"

"Well, Midas – I don't have anything to gain from lying to you, do I? I'm no happier about being robbed as you are about not getting your mitts on 'er."

For a minute, the room reverberated with tense silence as neither party spoke. Finally, Dr. Schultz cleared his throat and threw his hands together, wringing them in a satisfactory way.

"Well, this is unfortunate I suppose – but not completely unexpected."

He turned back towards Sarah and Nattie, smiling.

"Ladies – I am a weary traveler in unfamiliar country. The day is almost ended. Might I patronize your boardinghouse for a night's rest? I realize you have had a trying day, but I have already seen to my horse and cart at the stable, and I smell something delicious that I hope is being prepared for the evening meal?"

Hesitantly, the women looked at each other. Sarah plastered a frozen smile on her face.

"Why, of course, Doctor. You're welcome to room with us for the night."

"Excellent," the doctor responded – almost too cheerfully.

"I hope you don't think this is over, Widow Stoddard!" Midas yelled over the pleasantries being exchanged.

"Well, of course not!" Sarah assured him. "I'm hoping the girl is caught so's I can get my cap back! It's the best one I've got, you know…"

"Blast you to damnation!" Midas muttered, and he left with his small pack not far behind.

It was rather obvious right away to King Schultz that the two women were lying. It was even obvious to the saloon owner who, for all his buffoonery, was not a complete idiot. The problem was that there was no way to find the Norcross woman and bring her to justice without gaining the trust of the boardinghouse owner and her companion.

The two moved around him urgently like startled birds, and the other boarders who were staying the night at Sarah's Room & Board were congenial but obviously did not want to involve themselves in the particular kind of trouble that he represented. After a modest supper of chicken and dumplings, King took a detour on the way back to his room. There were answers here as to the whereabouts of the fugitive, he could feel it. It made him uneasy to put the Widow Stoddard in a threatening position. Then again, if she had knowingly given sanctuary to a woman who was wanted for murder –well, then she would get what was coming to her.

At any rate, a one thousand dollar bounty was simply too much to ignore.

"Mrs. Stoddard, I think you are telling tall tales."

Sarah looked up from her place at the kitchen table where she was minding her account books by lamplight. The task was methodical and had been calming. She'd thought that everyone in the house had gone to bed, including the doctor. However, she also had known that the chance she'd sleep that night were slim. So here he'd found her, in a badly-lit kitchen and alone to boot.

"Why doctor! What are you doing up and about?"

"I could ask the same of you," he motioned to a chair as if asking permission to sit. Sarah nodded reluctantly.

"I think that in your case, you cannot sleep because of…something on your conscience?"

"Now, Doctor Schultz – that _is_ ridiculous. You heard me earlier today…"

"And I didn't believe you then, either! Come, come – " the man said with a curious sense of urgency. "You know as well as I do that the woman who was here never for one moment had you believing she was your _niece_."

"Doctor, I don't think that this is an appropriate conversation to be having right now." Sarah insisted, standing and picking up the account book. Likewise, the doctor hopped to his feet. "Mrs. Stoddard, I wonder if you can guess what it is that I have in my pocket? You see, it was most curious…but this evening I came across this on the floor in your parlor. "

At that moment, Dr. Schultz pulled a long bundle of red strands from the small pocket of his gray waistcoat.

"Why, doctor - that's nothing but a hunk of my own hair! I had Nattie give me a bit of a trim yesterday…"

"Ach!" The man make a noise that made Sarah jump a bit.

"You are lying again Mrs. Stoddard!" he tossed the strands onto the table. "I don't wish to be indelicate, but this hair is markedly different than your own. The hue is much brighter, and yours – well, we have both begun to see the evidence of our years, haven't we?"

King motioned to his own head, and Sarah gave a heavy sigh.

"I do not think that your best cap was stolen as I do not believe that Elizabeth Norcross had any hair to use in it when she left here today. And am I correct in assuming that you would rather deal with me in this matter than our mutual acquaintance from earlier this afternoon?"

Sarah stood silent for a moment, considering her options. She turned to one of the cupboards behind the kitchen table and procured a bottle of whiskey which she place between their seats.

"Care to join me in a drink?" she asked lightly.

"Ah, I usually prefer beer – but if it puts you at ease, of course." King smiled, evidently pleased with himself.

Sarah poured two short glasses of the liquor, and quickly shot her's back before continuing the conversation.

"Before I tell you anything, I'd like to know how you found out about Bess."

"Elizabeth Norcross? She is being sought after by a great many people. I assure you I am not the only one – but I was approached as were others of my profession with the…pertinent details."

Sarah nodded.

"So that fancy family in Boston – they're out for her blood."

"She killed her husband, Mrs. Stoddard." The doctor's face sobered into a stern expression. "That's quite serious, no matter how you look at it."

"But what if he'd deserved to die, Doctor Schultz? What if she'd done what she had to in order to stay alive?"

The man was silent, but would not break Sarah's gaze.

No one asked questions. No one wanted to know about the woman dressed like a man who was taking a room at the cheapest flophouse in Westville. After making sure Jake was settled, Bess paid an old wiry man for a few nights upfront, went directly to her room, and locked the door. For a moment after the knob clicked in a satisfactory way, she starred down at it. Then, she took an old half-broken chair from next to the dusty cot that served as a bed, and wedged it under the knob's stern.

Surely that would buy her a few seconds if the worst happened.

Bess watched the single window in her dingy little room. Sometimes she fell to sleeping from extreme exhaustion. She would always start awake at the smallest unfamiliar noises, and for a moment she would always be terrified. Eventually, her heart would start beating normally and she'd remember to breathe. Sometimes she paced the floor back and forth. She found herself second guessing the plan that the three women had concocted. They'd had less than an hour - had done their best to think everything through…but there were always flaws, even to perfectly constructed solutions. Everyone was supposed to think she was dead – burning down the Norcross mansion should have led everyone to believe that. Someone must have seen her – gotten wind of what was going on. Evidently, she had been careful but not careful enough.

For a day and a half, Bess did not emerge from the grimy little hole she'd managed to bury herself into except to check on Jake. She'd spend a little time patting his nose and making sure he was receiving the right kind of care before she'd scurry back to her room. Bess ate salted pork and hard biscuits that Nattie had packed in the journeying satchel she'd swung over the young woman's shoulder.

Bess cleaned her gun, and prayed.

On the second day of her exile, Bess decided to go check on Jake under the cover of dusk. The sun was setting, and a certain peace has fallen over the patch of earth that was Westville, South Carolina. Bess washed her face, and decided that she'd have to pay for a bath soon – the spring was turning into early summer, and her room was small and stuffy. She rinsed out her hair, wiped down her neck, and let her skin breathe for a moment before carefully making her way out the door and to the stable where Jake obediently waited. She'd carelessly forgotten Thomas Stoddard's hat. It was what really completed the momentary illusion that she was…well, not a 'she' at all. However, the Colt was in her waistband and the errand was a short one. Besides, Bess knew a familiar face would lift her spirits – even if it did belong to a horse.

She didn't see the man who followed her into the stables, and watched her as she patted and fretted over Jake. Bess was so occupied with making it back to her room that she didn't even notice when the man stepped out from the side of the stable door. She didn't realize anyone was there until the man had the young woman in a firm grip.

Everything sped up, and Bess panicked.

"I've gotcha now, girlie! Dead or alive, that bounty is all mine," she heard an unfamiliar male voice declare.

"Now stop your squirmin' or I'll rip you stem to stern!"

Bess felt something hard come down over the side of her head – she thought maybe it was a gun – and the blow nearly sank her into darkness. Then a rush of realization sent a sensation through her chest and she flailed. Bess was stronger than she looked, and mercifully she managed to slam her fist into the man's jaw. He was stunned long enough for her to fall out of his grip, and scamper like mad across the dirt road.

"Dammit, you read headed _bitch_," she heard the man yell, and the woman turned just in time to see the stranger coming towards her. Before she knew it, she'd drawn her Colt & raised the pistol towards her adversary.

The man stopped, put his hands up, and gave Bess and oily grin.

"And what d'you think you're going to do with that little toy gun you've got there?"

"I aim to shoot you if I must!"

To prove her point, Bess aimed at the man's shoe.

Before she could give herself too much time to think, she'd pulled the trigger and shot near enough to his toe that the man jumped back.

"I'm going to enjoy killing you!" he howled, and aimed his own gun at Bess' head.

Before anything else could happen, another shot sounded deafening Bess momentarily. Her opponent crumpled to the ground like a slack-strung puppet.

For a moment, all her eyes could do was look at the corpse of the stranger on the ground. Then she saw the person responsible for ending her assailant's life. Her rescuer was still holding a Derringer towards where the man had fallen. Bess couldn't focus on much past a graying mop of brown hair and a crisp suit that seemed sadly out of place given the surroundings. She must have looked utterly stunned, and realized after a few moments that her mouth was gaping open just a little. Bess made the effort to shut it, and then she swallowed hard.

The man seemed not to pay her any mind as he leaned over the corpse. He pulled a few papers out from the man's coat, and read them in a satisfactory way. He then straightened, still holding the papers, and walked toward her. He could have been on a picnic – there was something matter-of-fact about the way he moved that did not attest to the life he'd just taken. The man in his lovely suit was the picture of unconcerned ease. Still too stunned to move, Bess stood stock still on the street trying to decide what she should do.

A small crowd had gathered by this point around where the skirmish had taken place. The man seemed unaware as he crossed the dirt road to Bess' side. In a conspiratorial way, he bent his head down towards hers.

"I know that you are frightened, but I must advise you to keep your wits about you and _follow_ _my_ _lead_."

A tired-looking older man wearing the tell-tale sigil of a sheriff's star finally walked through the crowd, declaring loudly the unfortunate things that were about to happen to everyone involved in the random shooting that had just taken place in his town.

Gathering himself to his full height – which was not that much taller than Bess herself – the man held his hands upward in a mark of surrender.

"We are sorry to have troubled you, Sherriff – I'm afraid there has been an unfortunate chain of events that led to this man's death."

German. The man was German. Bess could tell by the rising of his vowels, the bitten-off sound of his consonants. There were plenty of immigrants in Boston who had settled in the neighborhoods of the city. It was not uncommon to hear someone from the Rhineland conversing on the busier streets.

"Sir, you'd better have a damn good explanation for killing off someone at random other than a generalized 'unfortunate chain of events' – otherwise you'll hang!" The sheriff looked exasperated, more concerned at the disturbance than the death itself.

"Yes, of course –" Bess' rescuer continued. "I am Doctor King Schultz-"

Bess flinched visibly, but managed not to let her knees buckle.

"-and this man mistook my wife for a fugitive of the law that he was perusing. It was self-defense, as I'm certain many witnesses will be glad to attest to. I took action as soon as I realized that there was trouble."

It took a few moments for Bess to realize that the Doctor…bounty hunter…or whatever – was talking about _her_. The man was obviously unbalanced as well as possessing an impeccable sense of timing. She couldn't help but turn her head towards Doctor Schultz, and stare at him a bit slack-jawed.

"You see, the poor devil was a bounty hunter – an officer of the court as I am – and it seems that we were _all_ after the same person."

The doctor straightened out the paper that had been inside the man's pocket and handed it to the sheriff.

"We _have_ been after the same person it seems ," he emphasized this as if it would aide in the explanation, then continued with a nearly theatrical motion.  
"I have an identical poster of my own – but I can tell you that my wife is…well, she is not the woman everyone is in such hot pursuit of. The poor man was simply too enthusiastic at the prospect of the large bounty. He would not see reason."

"One thousand dollars? I'm not surprised – that's a small fortune," the sheriff added, looking solemnly down at the poster, shaking his head.

"Yes, well – there must be at least a dozen bounty hunters I know of who are looking for the same woman," at this, Schultz raised his voice. The reality of the situation suddenly hit Bess in the stomach like a rock. Of course there would be people looking for her. The Norcross family had the resources to look for decades if they wanted to, and as long as they thought she was alive, they'd never quit.

"It was self-defense, as I'm certain any witness here will tell you," the doctor continued. "A warning shot was even given, which unfortunately only seemed to enrage the man more."

"Well, whatever the case – I think that you best come down to the station to make sure that all the particulars are taken care of," the law official added, relieved at what seemed to be a solid explanation – or, at least, solid enough.

"Your wife, she'll probably want to wait for you wherever y'all are staying."

"Of course," at this Schultz gave Bess a meaningful look. "You should retire to our apartments until I can clear this up – don't worry, I'll be along soon."  
No sooner had he said these words than he turned and followed the sheriff down the street. Without waiting longer than a beat, Bess turned on her booted heels and walked stiffly into the flophouse – still numb, still unsure of what to do. She could ride away from this place. Indeed, there was very real danger in being indebted to a bounty hunter. It didn't take an experienced fugitive to know that.

When she got to her room, she flew into action and began throwing her things together. It would be stupid to stay now. But then her senses started to kick in, and she slowed enough to give herself the ability to think.

He'd let her keep the gun. If he'd wanted to hurt her, why would he have done that? He'd seen her use it on the stranger. It puzzled Bess, and she felt so overwhelmed that she sat down on the little broken cot opposite the chair in her dingy little room, and simply sat, sweat, bled, & did her best not to cry.

About an hour later, a soft knock sounded on the door.  
"Y…yes?" Bess answered reluctantly. The door opened slightly, and the doctor wearily peaked inside. She must have looked as pathetic as she felt, because without further hesitation Schultz pushed the door open the rest of the way.

"Now, Fräulein, if you please –" he gave a slight flourish with his hand before sitting down at the end of the saggy little cot. Carefully – almost gently – his lips turned upwards into a slight smile.  
"Perhaps I might converse with you about this predicament that you find yourself in?"


End file.
